I was just walking one day on the busy streets of Mumbai city. I was listening to some music and making up a story in my head while observing everything that was happening around. The weather was pleasant with less humidity than usual. Suddenly, I saw a man sitting on the footpath. He had an unbelievable aura around him. A bright circle of light was shining around his neck. I stopped by to look at it.

I was free that day and I still wasn’t able to figure out much about the story I was making. I decided to go and talk to that man. I had time to kill and I thought maybe I will get something out of him.


 I went to him and in a very polite tone I asked, ‘Sir, do you mind if I join you?’

‘Yes sure’, he replied in a firm voice.

‘What do you want to know’, he asked with a blank face.

‘How do you know that I want to know something?’ I asked hesitatingly.

‘Well don’t complicate things, I just guessed since you asked to join me’, he replied casually.

‘I am working on a story but I am badly stuck so I thought you might help me’, I said.

‘You are right, I can help you’, he replied with assurance.

‘You see we think we are writing a story, but we are not. We are writing what is already there. How can it be a creation? It is just a recollection of what you have gone through. So, I would suggest you recall what you have seen during the day or during the last month and write everything down. See, the one who is reading it will make a story out of it. He has to since he has invested his time. So don’t bother. Just write’, he finished with a bright smile on his face.


I thanked the man and walked away. I was in shock. I have gotten the best advice from a person whom I thought as a piece of observation. I went back to my home and followed his advice. I wrote about the day. And now I leave it to you, the readers, to make out a story.




Have you ever met a disabled person?

How difficult must be living with a disability?


You chose to follow a pattern

A life which on the outline is happy

You do what you need to do


One day I met a friend

And he started sharing his plans

He had the whole shit figured out

His job and promotions

His travel plans and marriage

His kids and their schooling

And I just kept looking at him wondering


I thought to myself

What is beyond that?

Nobody talks about that

Or I am just hiding my laziness

And pretending to be too philosophical


But let me tell you

I am no different

I travel the same path as my friend

The only difference is that he is happy

And I am not

But maybe he is not happy

Who could tell?

Why do I complain so much and he doesn’t?


He asked me one day,

Have you ever met a disabled person?

How difficult must be living with a disability?

And he advised me

That I am lucky

I am able

I should be happy

I should succeed

As he was doing


When I go home everyday

And I look into the mirror

I try to go beyond myself

I try to look closer

And I laugh

I laugh hard at myself

And I ask myself,

Who isn’t disabled?





Curious eyes…

Curious eyes…



It was a bright day in a village, which was situated very far away on an island. Only around fifty people lived in that village. The food and lifestyle habits of people in that village were very simple. The village was inside the green forest. There were big trees all around and wild animals. The work was distributed evenly among everyone.  Some took care of the safety from the wild animals and the rest of them arranged for food.

In the night people will sing songs and talk. Generally, they would talk about the life beyond the waters. They had boats but they never managed to see the other side of the shore. They were very curious about the things they didn’t know. They didn’t have the means to satisfy their curiosity.  The bright day had now turned into a dark night. All eyes locked their curiosity inside.

A big explosion was heard. Everyone woke up and ran to find out about it. A big plane was coming from the sky towards them. It was burning like a ball of fire. Soon, the entire island was on fire along with the people.  Those people died with curiosity in their eyes. Far away, on the other side of the shore, people read about the missing plane. Within days the news was forgotten. People got back to their lives. The uninterested people will never know about those people who died with curiosity in their eyes.

a fake

a fake


Broken heart crying inside

But how would a heart cry?

It sure feels heavy


It is one of those days

When you feel really low

Your body is belligerent

But the mind has given up


There was this man

I admired him a lot

Always happy and cheerful

Every time he will be ecstatic


He made me envious

Until one day

I saw him in his solitude

Crying like a baby

Sitting in his garden



The clouds were gone now and the sun was bright

I was really happy

I should not have been that happy

But I was ecstatic

I was relieved

That man who looked always happy

Was a fake

A big lie

And I got a reason to stay depressed and sad again


Sometimes I wonder

How comforting is sadness?

How difficult is to look happy?


I left that man and never returned.  

New book…

New book…


Hello friends,

My new book titled ‘Voice of the Soul’ is now available on Amazon. Please Read and tell me what you think.



How does it feel to lie just by yourself and delve into the silence? The silence that is a path to a deeper self, a self that is unexplored. That same unexplored self can also be regarded as the soul. While the time ticks on the clock, a bond with your soul is timeless. Such metaphors are rendered powerless when a conversation is created with oneself. These poems mean more than just words, they scream soulfulness. It is rather weird that we go looking for answers outside when all that we have to do is seek deeper within ourselves. The poems are experiences that the poet shares with the world and these experiences are nothing fancy- they are all moments that the poet experiences with himself. They are questions risen from inquisitiveness and introspection.

Here is the link:

Buy now





The morning sunlight today was different

Yesterday’s night was different

Different were these last few days


The last few weeks were different

The last few months were different

Different was this whole year


Trying hard

Struggling to avoid change

And I am different every second.

The same old story…

The same old story…



It was a silent night. The time was around 2 AM. I closed the book I was reading and started writing a story. I wanted to write about crime, money, and corruption. I chose myself as the main protagonist and started thinking.

In the story, I am a poor guy who lives in a small shed in the slum area of Mumbai. I have no work, I beg on the streets for my daily bread. One day when I am standing on the street, I see a car stopping. Three men stepped outside. After a few minutes, another car stopped right behind the first one. A man stepped outside from it with a big suitcase. He gave that suitcase to one of the three men standing and then he left.

The three men started discussing something and soon they were shouting. One of them pulled out a gun and shot the other two. The suitcase fell down. The third man was about to run with the suitcase, but some police officers came from behind in their jeep. The man ran leaving the suitcase behind and the police followed him.

I took that suitcase and looked around. There was an old beggar sitting on the opposite side of the road. He was looking all this while, I realized. But he didn’t react. I ran away with the suitcase.

That suitcase was loaded with cash. I, later on, became a businessman with that money and earned a name for myself. It was a stroke of fate that changed my life. I wanted more money. I started blackmailing and extortion. I looted big politicians and businessmen. I abducted the children and asked for money in return. One day I went to the same street for exchanging money on which I found that suitcase.

The beggar was still sitting on the opposite side. He was a lot older now. But his eyes were still the same. I took my money and left. With time I became more powerful. I decided to form my own party and work for the country as a politician. With the power and money I had, it was not a difficult task. Soon, I had power, money, and fame, everything that I asked for I got. I started feeling like a god. People came to me in thousands asking for help.

But from the inside, I was at my weakest. I was not able to sleep at night.

It was 2:15 AM. Only this much I was able to think. I didn’t know how to end the story. It was the same old story. I thought about it for one hour more. I didn’t find anything interesting. I closed my laptop. I closed my eyes and the only thing I could think of was that man sitting on the opposite side of the street.

That one incident.

That one incident.



I woke up in the morning and looked around. The room was filled with sunlight and I could see dust particles flying over my head, arranged in arrays. I removed my blanket and was about to get up from the bed when I heard some strange noises. I was scared as there was no one in the house.

I stayed in bed for a few more minutes. I looked around my room and realized that someone was here. All my things were messed up. Nothing was stolen as such. I went to check the outside door and found out that it was perfectly locked. There was no way anybody could have entered the house.

I tried to recollect my previous day’s memories. And I realized that the room was arranged perfectly before. I was terrified because of the room’s present condition. I went to work after some time and tried to forget this incident.

It has been 25 years. That incident is still fresh in my mind and I still don’t know who was present there that night. But today I am not terrified. I am curious. I am anxious. Sometimes I just mess up my room and live that incident in the morning. I try to forget that I was the one who messed it up. And my wife gives me medicine thinking that I am suffering from Alzheimer.




A box full of grains
Same colour same size
And I was playing with it
Transferring from one box to the other
Uniformly the grains flowed
But no connection
No interaction
They all looked similar
Yet different
I tried to establish a bond
But they all were apart
Each traveled its own path
No care about the other
I got irritated
And I threw the box of grains
And they all went in different directions
I was ashamed of the grains
Suddenly, I fell down
Rolling on the curved earth
I was alone
I looked around
And I saw myself
But we were all on different paths
Not caring about each other
Finally I died hoping
I won’t become a grain.